


Tales of the Innkeeper

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Unusual relationship(s), Fourth Age, General, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - I reread often, Subjects - Culture(s), Subjects - Economics, Subjects - Politics, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Good use of humor, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2006-09-12
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ongoing series of vignettes in which a simple innkeeper (OC) reflects on his encounter with King Elessar and life in Fourth Age ME in general.<br/><br/>Although the Innkeeper vignettes began as entirely separate entities, the series took on a life of its own, and the vignettes subsequently became chapters of a larger work. Tales of the Innkeeper, therefore, is now not only an ongoing series of vignettes and ficlets but also a WIP short story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This New King

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

I'm still not fond of most of his kind. We cater to simple folk, people more like us. Oh, we want you to be comfortable, but it won't take you long to see that we have no velvet curtains, no satin bedcovers, no marble floors. Ha! I wouldn't even know what his kind eats, and I couldn't very well offer the King of Gondor plain joints, pies and porridge, could I? How I cursed that blizzard that brought him here! I don't know where his party was headed—a man like me can't pretend to know the mind of a king—but somehow they turned up here, seekin' refuge until the worst of the storm passed. Couldn't rightly turn them away, could I?

I've had his kind as guest once before: Denethor. Didn't talk much, that one. Just barked out an occasional word or two: "Beds," "Wine," "Food." I thought maybe that's just the way those folks in the Citadel speak; too busy to get more than one word out. The most he ever said to me was when I showed him to the best room we had. I told him before openin' the door that it wasn't much, addin' "but it's clean and warm." The Steward responded with a curt, "I suppose it will do," but I could hear in his grunt and see by the flare of his nostrils that he was none too happy about spendin' the night under my roof.

Then that night durin' the blizzard, royalty came knockin' on my door again. Elessar, this one's called. Some sort of elvish name. Supposed to have taken an elvish lady as a wife, too. Couldn't begin to imagine what a strange fellow this new king is. Said he hoped he wasn't puttin' us out, told me that any room would do, and—imagine this—asked how the wife and I were faring this brutal winter. And he said all this in complete sentences, so now I know that speakin' in one word utterances isn't some sort of requirement up there in Minas Tirith. I started thinkin' that maybe he's not so bad. But it was his eyes that really told me that this new king is no Denethor. The Steward's eyes looked dead if you take my meanin', and I would know; I've ever been able to judge a man by his eyes. There's a certain sparkle in the eyes of this new king, but don't tell the local men that I said that. They'd say I was talkin' like some sort of woman if they heard me goin' on about the sparklin' eyes of the King.

I told the King I couldn't offer him the kind of fare he's used to in the White City, but I'd be happy to give him whatever I have.

"Would you have any pipeweed?"

"Pipeweed, Sire? Why, that's one thing we have in plenty!" Since this new King came to power, bringin' his Northern customs with him, I've become somethin' of a trader in pipeweed. In fact, you might say I have a corner on the market in these parts. You know how it goes: simple folks are always takin' up the habits of the powerful. Ha! As if smokin' pipeweed's going to make them into more than what they are! But I'm not complainin'; my fledglin' pipeweed business is provin' quite profitable. And I can't say I mind trading with those Hobbits, either. Took some getting use to—those little folks want to eat more than they want to trade—but they're a good lot on the whole.

But I was tellin' you of the King . . . . So I told him that yes, I had some pipeweed.

"Would you be so good as to join me for a smoke?" he asked.

Imagine!—A simple man like me havin' a smoke with the likes of him. Of course, he's not what I'd first thought him to be. Different from most of those fancy folk.

And that's when it hit me: I just might like this new King.

````````````  
Author's Note 1: Given the scope of King Elessar's power and influence, I think it's reasonable to assume that he very well may have brought the habit of smoking pipeweed to Gondor.

 

Author's Note 2: The Innkeeper's opinions of Denethor do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the author. Suffice it to say, the Innkeeper is more comfortable around more down-to-earth guests, and in this regard, Elessar's time at establishments such as the Prancing Pony served him well.


	2. Lie Down Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ongoing series of vignettes in which a simple innkeeper (OC) reflects on his encounter with King Elessar and life in Fourth Age ME in general.

He looked tired. You’d think fancy folk like him would get more rest, havin’ servants to do all the hard work. How can a body tire from lyin’ about on silken sheets in a bed bigger than my largest room? But I reckon travelin’ in a blizzard like he’d done wears a man out. ‘Course, I don’t travel much myself, needin’ to be here at the inn tendin’ to guests. Now there’s tiresome work! People always needin’ something but are none too thankful to get it. But by and large, we get good folk here, folks like you.  
  
You’d think that tired as he seemed, he’d have gone straight to his room, same one Denethor stayed in when he was here that one time. Maybe I should start chargin’ more for that chamber, call it the “Room of Royalty” or somethin’ of that ilk. Anyhow, the King, tired as he looked, remained downstairs talking to his men. I wasn’t able to make out exactly what they were discussin’—not that I was tryin’ to eavesdrop, mind you—but it seemed important; somethin’ about food supplies. One by one, each of his men retired for the night. It was the wee hours of the mornin’ before they were all gone, and Elessar still sat there by himself, goin’ over some sort of papers. ‘Course, I stay up that late to keep an eye out for folks who might be up to no good. That’s my life: lie down late; rise up early. Now you understand why my work is tiresome?  
  
Before I retired for bed myself, I asked him if there was anythin’ more I could get him.  
  
“No, but I thank you. You have been quite hospitable.” He gave me a weary smile and a nod of the head. Imagine that!—the King thankin’ me for simply doin’ my job. Some of my guests could take a lesson in manners from Elessar. Of course, as I said, most of our patrons are good folk like you.  
  
“Very well, sire.” I almost told him not to stay up too late, but who am I to tell the King when to go to bed? Besides, I didn’t want to sound like his mother.  
  
As I said, it’s usually late when my head finally hits my pillow, but I’m always up about my work early again the next mornin’. Usually still dark when I make my way downstairs, but I’m used to it; more than five hours of sleep and I’m groggy. Made of strong stock, I am. Besides, I like being the first one up; gives me time to clear my head before the day begins. But that mornin’ after the royal party arrived, I went down just as early as always to find that someone had beaten me: there sat the King goin’ over more papers. Don’t know whether he’d ever bothered goin’ to bed or not.  
  
As I stood there watchin’ him work, I thought about what I’d heard the night before: the King and his men discussin’ the food supply. It occurred to me that folks seemed to think that once the shadow was gone, things’d be right easy. Seems for many, the hard part’s just beginning. People’re tryin’ to put their lives back together, and I reckon that it’s King Elessar they’re all turnin’ to. Thankless job, I imagine. And he’ll be at it for quite some time; I hear he has Númenor blood, and you know how long those folks live. Yes, goin’ to be many a year before this new King gets any rest.  
  
Guess it’s just as exhaustin’ bein’ a king as it is bein’ an innkeeper. I reckon those satin sheets and big beds don’t do a man much good if he never gets to lie on them.


	3. Just A Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ongoing series of vignettes in which a simple innkeeper (OC) reflects on his encounter with King Elessar and life in Fourth Age ME in general.

I see more than a few men drinkin’ their lives away, if not their troubles. Shadow’s left its mark all over this realm, and too many good men’ve turned to drink to help them cope. If you ask me, strong drink isn’t going to help any of us, but that’s none of my business. My job’s just to keep folks happy.  
  
Most of the King’s men were sippin’ wine. Actually, some were doin’ more than sippin’, if you take my meanin’. But when the King threw them a sharp look, they slowed down.  
  
The King himself hadn’t had a drop, so I asked him if he’d like some Old Winyards I’d managed to acquire from the Hobbits I’ve been tradin’ with. I’d heard that the King was acquainted with some of the wee folk and thought maybe I could entice him into a cup of the strong stuff. I don’t mind tellin’ you that part of my offer was made from sheer hospitality—that’s my job!—but part was from curiosity. Just wanted to see if the King was accustomed to using wine to cope with the headaches of his life. Wouldn’t be a bit surprised, hard as he works.  
  
“Just a touch,” the King replied.  
  
Seems he’s a man of moderation, that one.  
  
Just as I finished pouring, a drunken, old fool named Arrad—not one of the King’s men, mind you—grabbed the backside of Silima, my serving girl. Now there’s somethin’ I just won’t tolerate. Silima’s a good girl, she is. And young. Shame she has to be ‘round a lot of drunken men, but her family needs the money, and I keep an eye out for her. But by and large, my guests are good folk like you, so it’s not often that I have to come to Silima’s rescue.  
  
Young Silima was so taken aback by the affront that she dropped the tray she’d been carrying. Saw her wipe a tear from her cheek, too. Amazin’ what a man can do with just a touch.  
  
Now as I was sayin’, gropin’ Silima’s not something I tolerate, so I moved to have a stern word with Arrad. Never got the chance, though; the King stood up so quickly that his chair fell over. He said naught. Just glared at the fellow, who quickly lowered his head. Everyone watchin’ knew that there’d be no more trouble. Then the King went over to Silima and helped her gather up the broken glass. Imagine that! Silima was so stunned she just stared at him for a moment or two before she continued cleanin’ up.  
  
The King never said a word to Silima, but when the mess was cleaned up, he laid his hand on her arm in such a gentle manner that I saw the tension flow out of Silima’s face. She knew she was safe.  
  
Yes, amazin’ what a man can do with just a touch.


	4. Stars Among Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ongoing series of vignettes in which a simple innkeeper (OC) reflects on his encounter with King Elessar and life in Fourth Age ME in general.

I've ever been fond of gazin' at the stars. To be sure, we needed those tiny beacons of light to give us hope when the Shadow covered our land, but even with those dark days behind us, there's always more than enough trouble brewin'. A man searches for hope wherever it lives, and starin' at the bottom of any empty wine goblet isn't where he'll find it.

The wife likes to tell me that now and again, a star will fall from the skies and assume the form of a livin', breathin' person. I tell her, "Stop with that nonsense, Anira! Stars are stars, and though they shed light in the darkness and provide lost beings a sense of bearing, they'll never walk among us cloaked as Men, or Elves, or any other folk." But she's persistent, Anira is. Swears that some folks are really stars among us.

I'd been watchin' a certain ill-behaved man for the few days he'd been under my roof. Not the same old fool who'd groped Silima, mind you. No, this one was one of the King's men. Boy, actually. From what I'd gathered, his father was among the poor souls who lost their lives at the Pelennor Fields. I read the bitterness on the boy's freckled face and heard the impudence in his voice on more than one occasion. Lookin' for trouble, that one. I couldn't tell you what he and the King were talkin' about that night, but I know this much: whatever it was, it wasn't to the King's likin'. The lad kept his eyes locked on the floor, but I saw his jaw clench and his fists bunch in anger. It wasn't the first time the King had given him a stern talkin' to, and I was surprised that Elessar hadn't lost all patience with him. In fact, I was just thinkin' to myself, _The King's apt to give him his due now,_ when the King did somethin' I never saw comin': he patted the boy's back and told him to get some rest. Sounded more like the boy's father than his liege!

After the boy had gone, the King turned to find me standin' there like a fool, open-mouthed with a broom in my hands. He gave me that subtle smile and nod that he's so fond of before explaining, "He is just a young man in need of a little guidance. I was much like him once." 

Wasn't the first time I found myself not knowin' what to say to the King. I was caught between tryin' to picture Elessar as a lad needin' fatherly guidance and the shock of realizin' the King had just explained his actions to a simple man like me. So there I stood like a dumb fool, until I mumbled the only words I could find: "Yes, Sire. We can all use a little help findin' our bearings from time to time."

The King nodded once again before makin' his way upstairs. As I watched him go, it occurred to me: maybe Anira's been right about stars all along.


	5. Closer Than We Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ongoing series of vignettes in which a simple innkeeper (OC) reflects on his encounter with King Elessar and life in Fourth Age ME in general.

It's a wise man who knows his foe. Havin' the King under my roof had me thinkin' just how often he and those brave souls who fought the Shadow must've found themselves tryin' to read the mind of Sauron and his foul lot. I'd hear their tales: "We thought if we could just lure the eye of Sauron away from Frodo . . . ." Takes a brave man to be willin' to go far enough into darkness that he comes to know the mind of evil itself. Can't help but wonder just how many never made it out.

Now, from what I'd seen since the royal party first came knockin' on my door, Elessar is given to patience. Never seen a hint of violent temper out of him once, not even when that old fool Arrad grabbed at Silima. But one eve when the King was havin' words with that one hotheaded, red-haired boy in his company, he suddenly stood up and stormed from the room. I thought maybe one of my serving girls had done something to irk him—they're not all as sensible as Silima—so I reckoned I'd best go check on him myself. It's not good for business havin' the King take an unkindly view of the inn, you understand.

So I asked the King—politely as I could, mind you—whether anything was amiss. "Is there anything I can do, Sire? A bit of pipeweed, perhaps?"

The King looked straight at me, and I saw that the sparkle usually present in his eyes had turned into a flash. It wasn't my first time realizin' that Elessar is no man to be trifled with.

"Nay, you and your staff have never failed to be anything but courteous and generous. I am well pleased with all of you. I only wish I could say the same for young Carandol." So _that_ was the boy's name.

"Irks you, does he, Sire?" I could've kicked my fool self as soon as the words were out! What right had I to be so brazen with our King, especially when he was already upset?

But the King actually chuckled. "Irked would be a tame word, I fear. At times, I have the urge to slap that insolent sneer from his freckled face. But I have learned to manage my darker impulses: when languor seizes me, I think of my industrious friend, Gimli, and his dwarven kin; when despair besets me, I seek the company of those who remind me that Hope remains; and when anger explodes within me, I retreat to solitude."

There I stood reelin' once again, not knowin' which seemed stranger—that this King could ever feel lazy or that in addition to his proclivity for Elves, he also keeps company with Dwarves. When I'd gathered my wits, I sputtered out the first coherent words that came to mind: "It's a wise man who knows how to handle his darker side, Sire."

The King nodded before saying, "And it takes an even wiser man to recognize the truth of that statement. Well said, Master Innkeeper."

Is it my imagination, or d'you reckon that the King was actually callin' a simple fool like me wise? Surely I misunderstood!

Before leavin' the room, the King closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and announced, "Now back to deal with young Carandol."

"Best of luck to you there, Sire."

As I watched the King go, it occurred to me: now that Sauron's been defeated, we tend to believe there's no adversary left to know. But the way I see it, the enemy is always lurkin' closer than we think.


	6. A Fine Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ongoing series of vignettes in which a simple innkeeper (OC) reflects on his encounter with King Elessar and life in Fourth Age ME in general.

It’s a difficult task, balancin’ the cold and the heat. Don’t want folks shiverin’, yet too much heat gets a man’s ire up. I’ve seen it more’n once: men sharin’ a drink, when one of ’em starts wiping his brow, another tuggin’ at the neck of his tunic. Next thing, these best of friends are throwin’ punches over some triflin’ matter. That’s why I spend a good portion of my winter days and nights keepin’ a roarin’ fire burnin’, then openin’ a door just a pinch to let out a bit ’o heat. It’s a fine balance, but after all these years in the inn, I’ve gotten right good at it.  
  
That stretch of winter that the King spent under my roof was a harsh one, to be sure. The wife was feelin’ it; the guests were feelin’ it; the horses out in the stables were feelin’ it. When the King came walkin’ into the hall with one hand clutchin’ his pipe and the other holdin’ onto the blanket wrapped ’round his royal shoulders, I knew that even Elessar was feelin’ it.  
  
“Sire, let me put another log on the fire while you settle yourself in for a smoke,” I suggested. “Silima, fetch the King some pipewide.”  
  
Silima made an awkward curtsy in the King’s direction, and maybe it was just the glow of the firelight on her face, but I think the girl blushed a bit before leavin’ the room. I reckon she had a bit of a crush on Elessar ever since he’d come to her rescue when one of his men had gotten a bit too friendly with her. As Silima turned the corner, she ran straight into someone, and the flash of red hair on this guest told me straight off that the newcomer was that troublesome Carandol. He and the King had been at odds since they’d come knockin’ on my door, and sure enough, as he came struttin’ into the room to find the King sittin’ there, the arrogant smirk on his face turned into an outright sneer. I was tempted to go smack the disrespect from him, but who am I to interfere with one of the King’s company?  
  
From what I could gather, seems the lad had fire in his blood since losin’ his father at the Pelennor Fields. I’m not altogether certain, but I reckon he might ’ave blamed Elessar just a bit. ’Course, you and I know that the only one to blame for the blood spilled at the Pelennor was Sauron himself. But you know how folks are: always lookin’ for someone or somethin’ right in front of them to take the heat of their resentment. I reckon that if a simple man like me can figure that much out, surely the King knew it, too. Still, if I had been Elessar, I would’ve lost patience with Carandol long before.  
  
Now, I’m usually so busy rushin’ about, I tend not to feel the cold too much. But as soon as Carandol stood glarin’ at the King—with the King starin’ right back, mind you—I felt the chill in the air.  
  
“I have finished the task you requested. Is there anything else you require at the moment, Sire?” spat the youth, tuggin’ on the neck of his tunic.  
  
“That’ll be all, Carandol,” whispered Elessar, wipin’ a bead of sweat from his brow.  
  
Carandol spun on his heels and fled the room as if the King were Sauron himself. I don’t know what task the lad was speakin’ of—none of my business, you understand—but whatever it was, the two had clearly butted heads over it.  
  
Elessar sat there workin’ his jaw; then without warnin’, he sprung up from his chair, grabbed a cushion, and began beatin’ the life out of the table. I was more’n a bit stunned by that; thought maybe Carandol had finally driven the man insane. But just as quickly as he started, the King stopped, adjusted his tunic, and nodded at the table as if it’d put up a good fight. Then just as calmly as you please, he sat back down.  
  
“Sometimes it does a man good to let out a bit of the fire burning within him,” explained Elessar. “The lad would not irk me nearly as much if I cared nothing for him. It would be easier at times to keep my heart frozen.”  
  
Now what was I to say to that? I managed to keep my mouth shut for a moment or two, but you know me—I just had to blurt out the first fool thing that came to mind: “I understand, Sire. Warmth is a fine balance to achieve.”  
  
The King—bless his patient soul—closed his eyes and sat still until I thought he’d drifted off. Just as I had in mind to leave the man to his rest, came a whisper: “That it is, Master Innkeeper. That it is.”


	7. Looking After Arda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ongoing series of vignettes in which a simple innkeeper (OC) reflects on his encounter with King Elessar and life in Fourth Age ME in general.

An inn's not an easy thing to maintain, mind you. 'Reckon most folks give little thought to how much work can be runnin' about patchin' the roof and replacin' loose stones in the walkways. Some days I wonder why I don't just give up on the place, but then I remember that as long as I take care of this inn, it seems to keep on takin' care of me. Can't rightly give up on it now, can I?

I was in the midst of replacing the leg on one of the tables when Elessar came stridin' into the hall, that young hothead Carandol close on his heels. At the sight of the lad, I rolled my eyes before I had time to think better of it. I was hopin' the King hadn't seen my expression, but I reckon he had because I saw him tryin' to choke back a laugh. Seemed the two were in the middle of a conversation concernin' some lass named Anbel, who turned out to be one of the horses out in the stables. From what I could make of the conversation, the King had put this mare under the lad's care, and the young man seemed to be doin' a fine job. But what really surprised me was just how fond Carandol seemed to be of the animal. He spoke a bit more softly when he talked about the mare, almost tenderly.

When the lad had left for the stables, the King grinned to himself. He seemed right pleased with Carandol for a change, somethin' like a proud father.

"If you don't mind my sayin' so, Sire, the boy seems to do right well with that horse of yours."

"Indeed he does, Master Innkeeper. The mare's mother died shortly after birthing Anbel. I thought I'd lose the foal, but another mare allowed her to suckle, and the little foal survived despite the odds. I thought Carandol might take a liking to her because of their similarities."

"Sire?"

The King took a deep breath before continuin': "Carandol's mother left her husband and young son when the boy was but three. Why, I know not. The boy's father raised him on his own, but then he was killed several years back. Carandol sees himself as abandoned."

"Well, I reckon he was, Sire." Now, what did I go and say that for? Can you imagine? A man like me correctin' the King!

Mercifully, the King took no notice of my impudence before continuin': "On the surface, yes, but it always amazes me that just when we lose one person, the Valar place someone else in our lives. I have seen it often enough to know that it is true."

I knew from the curve of a smile on the King's lips that he had some personal experience in this matter, and I had to restrain myself to keep from askin' who had come along in his life to fill in when he'd lost someone dear. 'Reckon the only reason I managed to keep my big mouth shut is because I got caught up noticin' just how gracefully Elessar smiles, how elegantly his mouth curves. Now, just you forget I said that! I don't need you repeatin' that I took notice of the King's curvy lips! And don't you go gettin' any strange ideas about me, either. Just sayin' the man has a nice smile; that's all.

Now, what was I sayin'? Oh, yes, Elessar was tellin' how when we lose one person, we seem to gain another. I started thinkin' 'bout what he'd said, and I'd just decided that he must be right—'course he is, bein' the King and all—when he spoke: "Carandol fears that Arda has given up on him. What he knows not is that Arda does not give up on us unless we give up on it. And Carandol, despite his faults, has not given up on Arda. His fondness for Anbel is proof of that."

I started thinkin' about my inn once again, the way it seems to keep on providin' for me and the wife so long as I look after it, and I decided that the King was even wiser than I'd thought.

I still had to repair a loose plank in the stairs, so I reckoned I'd best take my leave. "If you'll excuse me, Sire, I have to be on my way. Have to be lookin' after Arda."

The King winked and grinned, and it occurred to me just how fortunate we are to have Elessar out there lookin' after his corner of Arda. Yes, I'm happy to let him go on lookin' after his corner of Arda while I go on lookin' after mine. 'Reckon that's what we're all here for. Even young Carandol.


	8. Wide-Open Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ongoing series of vignettes in which a simple innkeeper (OC) reflects on his encounter with King Elessar and life in Fourth Age ME in general.

I feel for her, my Anira. Gets that way every winter, all antsy. She's usually outside, you see, tendin' to her flowers. Don't know what sort she grows out there—irises, I think she's said; maybe roses. Not much of a flower man myself. Anira sure enjoys 'em though. Spends every moment she can spare out there in the sunlight and fresh air and wide-open spaces. But come the cold weather, there she is, all cooped up inside.

'Course, before Sauron met his match, it'd gotten right hard for any of us to enjoy bein' outside; the air seemed tainted, the sunlight wasn't quite as bright, and as for wide-open spaces, anyone who wanted to come home still wearin' his skin had to stay close to the village as much as life allowed.

Now, I like the fresh air as much as the next man, but with a winter as brutal as the one we had when the King was under our roof, stayin' inside suited me just fine. Not that I didn't have to venture out from time to time, but I don't mind tellin' you that I avoided it.

Elessar and his men seemed more or less happy to stay inside, too, though a few of 'em looked right bored. But takin' one step out that door into the frigid air was enough to freeze the boredom right out of 'em; they'd come trottin' right back in, lookin' for a warm seat by the fire, where they had no trouble settlin' in and lookin' right relaxed. Well, all 'cept Carandol, that is. No surprise there. Never have seen a boy so unable to stay in one place for more 'n a few minutes. Always seemed restless, that one, but I reckon from what little I learned of his past, his agitation was understandable. Sure didn't help his penchant for getting' into trouble though. Reckon that's part of why the King gave him that mare of his to look after. But there I go again! What business has a man like me pretendin' to understand the motives of the King? Still, tendin' to that mare sure seemed to give Carandol some focus. Think we were all glad for that.

Now, one day the lad came rushin' in from the stables; seemed he was worryin' over Anbel, Elessar's mare, bein' out there in the cold. Don't know what the boy thought the King would do, carry the horse up to his bed and tuck her in? Ha! I can imagine the stories reachin' the White City about the King sharin' his bed with some lass named Anbel. Reckon that wouldn't sit too well with that queen of his. Don't know how those elvish ladies react to such stories, but if they're anythin' like our mortal women, Elessar would've found himself in a heap of trouble.

Anyway, when Carandol came rushin' in disturbin' the King about nothin' more'n a cold horse, I expected Elessar to tell the young man to throw another blanket on the mare and quit his fussin'. But the King did somethin' I wasn't expectin'—I was gettin' used to that from Elessar—he got up from where he was sittin' by the fire havin' a nice smoke of pipeweed and went outside with the boy. Left me wonderin' a bit about the King, I don't mind tellin' you.

Maybe an hour or two later—I lose track of time, you see. Busy man, I am!—Elessar came back in, Carandol on his heels. The boy looked a tad calmer, and strange as it seemed, I thought he might've even had a gleam of joy in his eye. He asked me for some oats for the mare—almost polite, he was—and I obliged. Then the lad went on back to the stables.

The King chuckled as the boy left.

I reckoned the King was gettin' quite accustomed to my nosiness, so I spoke right up: "Sire, mare doin' alright out in the cold?"

Elessar chuckled again. Seemed right amused, he did. "Aye, Master Innkeeper. She is just fine, though I thank you for your concern. That mare is as sturdy as they come; It would take more than a bit of cold to harm her."

"Sire, if you call this weather we're havin' just a bit cold, then you're a far sturdier man than I. Er, well—of course you are, bein' the King and all."

Elessar let out a boomin' laugh. "I stand corrected! You are quite right, Master Innkeeper, as you often are. 'Tis brutally cold, indeed."

He got a far away look in his royal eyes, then mumbled something under his breath. I may not have the words exactly right, but the gist was somethin' like, "Of course, I have been colder. There was Caradhras . . . not called 'the Cruel' for no reason."

For a moment, I thought he was talkin' about some lass he'd—er—been friendly with back before his married days. But then what little I know of geography came back to me. 'Course, you understand my ears aren't used to hearin' the elvish term for the Redhorn.

The King shook his head—has a lot of hair that man!—clearin' the memory from his mind. Then he resumed his jovial nature and said, "Anbel needed no help from me; Carandol, however, did."

"Sire?"

"I remember when I was around his age"—there it was again, that faraway look in his eye—"my foster father sat with me while I did my lessons, not because they were overly difficult; 'twas more because what was difficult was . . . life. And life always felt a bit steadier in the presence of Elrond." He smiled a wistful sort of smile then, one I'd not seen before, and have to tell you, I think I like that smile on him best of all. 'Reckon I'd become somethin' of an expert on the King and his many smiles. Not many a man can say that!

Elessar looked at me again, the past havin' retreated once more. "Carandol is no different. He just needs to be reminded that someone a bit stronger and a bit more sure of himself is nearby."

Now, Anira had sauntered in somewhere in the midst of the King's little tale. Don't you go tellin' her I said this, but I didn't even notice she was there—so caught up was I in Elessar's words—until she whispered into my ear: "Now, isn't that a right refreshin' change of pace? Imagine! A busy, important man like him troublin' himself by lendin' his presence to that irksome lad. And out in this cold, no less!"

As I looked on Anira's face, it occurred to me that she looked all content and peaceful-like, just as she does when she's out there tendin' to those flowers of hers. And I can't say that I'm too surprised; strange as it sounds, Elessar is a bit like sunlight, fresh air, and wide-open spaces.

Come to think of it, with the King under our roof, maybe it wasn't so harsh a winter after all.


	9. Part of the Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ongoing series of vignettes in which a simple innkeeper (OC) reflects on his encounter with King Elessar and life in Fourth Age ME in general.

Certain things a man can count on whenever a horde of drunken fools gets cooped up for too long: they fight, they grab at whatever lass they can find, and if those fools are the tanner's sons and their worthless cousins, they break into some sad excuse for a song. Sure 'nough, when they paid my inn a visit durin' that brutal winter, they rollicked here but an hour ere they took to singin' their favorite ditty 'bout a wily lass betrayin' some hapless lad. Now, I have to admit that the song's grown on me over the years, but when you hear it for the first time, you might think you'll come away with your ears bleedin'. See, comes one part of the song and they all sing off key, makin' the biggest racket you ever heard. The first time they sang it under my roof, I said to Thurimen, one of our regulars, "I was 'bout to think those lads had some talent, but seems I was wrong. They need to learn either how to keep quiet or how to sing before they come gracin' my halls with their caterwaulin'."  
  
"Well, the boys have right fine voices, but if that one wretched note offends you, I hate to tell you that it's supposed to be like that." Thurimen shrugged and took a sip of ale.  
  
"That screech?" asked I.  
  
Thurimen nodded. "Yep; it's part of the song."  
  
Well, the more I got to thinkin' 'bout it, I decided that screech fits right well in that one part where they go on 'bout the lad catchin' his lass playin' him for a fool. I reckon I'd yowl like a wet cat, too, if ever I found my Anira with another man. Not that she'd ever go and do anythin' like that—I took as faithful a wife as they come. I did right well marryin' that one!  
  
Now, I'd hoped they'd refrain from singin' that particular song that winter that Elessar was with us. We local folk might find it entertainin', but I reckon the King is accustomed to minstrels with a might more sophistication than what we have in these parts. But there they went, seranadin' the royal party with their tale 'bout the lovesick lad and his no-good lass. Sure 'nough, they hit that sour note, and the King cringed. Couldn't miss it; I stood right across from where the man sat by the hearth, so I had a clear view of his face.  
  
As I walked over to stoke the fire, I leaned down toward Elessar and whispered—so as not to disturb the singin', if you want to call it that—"That note's supposed to be like that; it's part of the song."  
  
The King nodded and grinned. He's a right good-natured man, so long as you don't go upsettin' him. He motioned me to crouch beside the fire so that he could whisper back.  
  
"Reminds me of my wife's tapestries. Oh, they are fair, to be sure. Exquisite, in fact, for my lady wife is quite skilled with needle and yarn. But the first time I caught sight of the underside of one of her creations, I could scarcely believe that the front could be so beautiful. She must have noted my scowl because she said, 'Not to worry. It is all part of the creation, my love.'"  
  
"She sounds like a right charmin' lady, Sire. Well, of course she is, bein' the queen and all." Then, "You must miss her."  
  
Elessar took a puff of pipeweed, lettin' his words roll out with the smoke. "Aye, Master Innkeeper, I do. You are fortunate indeed to pass this winter with your wife."  
  
"Well, Sire, I'm not sure that Anira would agree with that; she itches to get out to her gardens, and sometimes, I reckon it's as much to get away from me as to tend to her flowers." I shrugged.  
  
The King chuckled. "Yes, time apart serves well, but my Queen and I have spent too much time apart in the past not to appreciate togetherness now," addin' to himself, "Especially when she paid such a dear price to buy our short time together."  
  
I didn't ask what he meant. I'm nosy, but I at least have the good sense to realize when a man speaks for no ears but his own.  
  
Turns out, Elessar offered an explanation all on his own: "Do you know that my wife descends from the Elves?"  
  
"Why yes, Sire, I'd heard that."  
  
"No longer. She sacrificed immortality for me, and her love binds her to death, breaking the hearts of those she holds dear. Never again will she look upon the face of her father, her mother."  
  
Not much I could say to that, 'cept, "Well, Sire, I reckon she thinks you're worth it."  
  
"I certainly hope I am, Master Innkeeper." The King smiled. "We husbands owe much to our wives, do we not?"  
  
"Aye, Sire. That we do. In fact, if you'll be excusin' me, I'd best be checkin' on my bride."  
  
Elessar chuckled. "An excellent idea, Master Innkeeper."  
  
I stood and walked to where my lady stood across the hall, clearin' some goblets from a wine-splashed table. I helped Anira wipe down the benches and stack goblets on a tray, but I said naught; all the while, my mind swirled with thoughts of the Queen and her tapestries. Couldn't imagine why I couldn't let that image go, not bein' much of a tapestry man. Then it occurred to me, that thought that'd been formin' in the back of my mind, so I rushed back to Elessar.  
  
"Sire, just one more thing, if you don't mind."  
  
The King raised his brows in inquisition.  
  
"About your wife's sacrifice and all—I reckon it's a bit like those tapestries of hers; doesn't look so good from the back, but all those knots and tangles sure hold somethin' beautiful together." I smiled and stood a bit straighter, right proud of myself for that one. Thought it sounded right courtly and all.  
  
Elessar broke into one of his crooked grins and closed his eyes for just a moment ere sayin', "Yes, Master Innkeeper. Once again, you are correct. I suppose it is all part of the song."


	10. A Man All the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ongoing series of vignettes in which a simple innkeeper (OC) reflects on his encounter with King Elessar and life in Fourth Age ME in general.

It's a strange thing, that spark 'tween a lad and a lass. Anira and I felt it straight off, so I can't deny the heat that threatens to consume a young couple in love. 'Course, not everyone marries for love, just those of us who get lucky.

That winter that the King and his men were under my roof, I took to noticin' that every few hours, young Carandol asked Silima for supplies for that horse he was so fond of. At first, I thought nothin' of it. She's a servin' girl, after all; she's right used to fetchin' things, and who is she to deny the request of the King's squire, even if he _is_ irksome? But then, he started lingerin' with her, tellin' her how smart she was to bring the _blue_ woolen blanket not the _brown_ one because it was so much thicker. A load of nonsense! Those blankets are the exact same weight, and Silima brought the blue one because it was on top. Still, she thanked him for his compliment and blushed a bit. She's a blusher, though, that one.

When Carandol rolled her name through his teeth—"Siiiil-i-maaa" as if he were sippin' on some fine wine, it was clear the boy was smitten. I snorted when I heard him, and he turned his head to glare at me.

I coughed to cover my laughter. "Sorry, young squire. Must be comin' down with somethin'. I'm an old man, I am. Very, very old. Can't handle these brutal winters like I once could." He smirked. Reckon he didn't believe my little act.

'Course, nothin' was ever goin' to come of the two young ones' affection. Silima's a good girl—a pretty lass, too!—but still, she's a servin' girl; Carandol a squire. Even two folks as young as they had to know that in the end, they'd have to leave each other alone. Reckon they were just playin' at love, addin' a little heat to take the chill off the winter.

Seems the King took to noticin' the heat 'tween those two young ones, as well, because one eve after Carandol started fussin' over a blister on Silima's finger, the King came up to me and said, "Ah, young love."

"Why yes, Sire. I reckon it's that. Not that it has a future."

"Why not?" asked the King.

Now, for a moment, I thought Elessar was jokin'. A man like him had to know that a squire and a servin' girl don't belong together! But though he was smilin', he had that right serious look in his eye, and I don't mind tellin' you, I found it a bit disconcertin'.

"After all, my Queen and I make an unlikely pair. Why not these two?" He shrugged, picked up his wine goblet, and went off to settle himself by the fire.

Well, that sounded romantic and all, but not too practical, if you ask me. Not too royal or somethin'. That's somethin' I'd been noticin' 'bout Elessar—as much as I liked the man, well, that's just it: he was too oft a man and not oft enough king. 'Twas like there were two people livin' in him, fightin' it out for which one would lead. I even took to noticin' that I called him "Elessar" from time to time. Not that I ever called him that to his face, but you'd think that I would've stuck to callin' him "the King." 'Course, my father referred to the Steward by his name, so maybe I come by it naturally. Still, there was somethin' about Elessar—see, there I go again—that reminded me too much that he was a man just like me. He sat a might too comfortably by my hearth, if you take my meanin'. We needed a king, someone who stood a little higher than the rest. The sovereign was in there, to be sure. I'd seen the King oft enough, but then, the man would come creepin' back in. A good man, but a man all the same. 'Course, Elessar was still new at the king business when he was here, and I reckon it's no easy task goin' from bein' whatever he was before to bein' King of the Reunited Kingdom. Not a transition I'd want to make. Not that I expect anyone's goin' to ask me anytime soon. I'm just sayin' that it's goin' to prove interestin' to see who wins the battle—Elessar the man or Elessar the King.

As Elessar sat there by the fire, puffin' on his pipeweed, Carandol came up, and I noticed that he didn't give a right proper bow, more of a nod of his red head and a little bend at the waist. Looked more like he was workin' some kink out of his back than greetin' his liege. Elessar had been right fatherly with the lad, and it seemed to have worked well. Still, I wondered whether the time had come for Carandol to get a good reminder that this was no ordinary man to go triflin' with.

Elessar chatted with the boy for a minute or two before the lad went off somewhere—probably to chase down Silima. That's when I saw it, the war ragin' inside Elessar. Those gray eyes clouded as he rested his chin on folded hands. They were fightin' in there, I tell you, man and sovereign, like he was decidin' whose turn it was. I'd seen 'em both, but who would appear next?

I don't mind tellin' you, as much as I liked the man, I was sure lookin' forward to the return of the King.


End file.
